CM Punk: Vampire Hunter
by auroraborealus
Summary: There was one thing about being a Superstar in the WWE that C.M. Punk could never stomach, all the darn vampires.
1. Chapter 1

C.M. Punk, should have been on top of the world.

He had everything a kid doing moonsaults off of a ladder in a backyard wrestling federation could ever dream of, money, fame, success, and most of all the most prestigious title in all of professional wrestling, the WWE Championship.

He had worked hard to get where he was. The long years of grinding it out on the independent circuit were still fresh in his memory so he still appreciated every push and every opportunity he had been given to bring him to this point.

But at the moment, championships and title belts were the furthest things from his mind.

Over the last few months he had slowly become convinced that fellow WWE Superstar Sheamus was a serial killer.

C.M. Punk pulled his baseball cap down lower over his eyes as he passed by the bar, trying to look casual as he slowed down and glanced in the window. He could see Sheamus inside, seated at the bar. How could he miss that bright red hair?

Punk passed on then doubled back and slipped through the door. He parked himself in a booth back in the corner and ordered a Pepsi. From his vantage point he could see Sheamus clearly but if Sheamus were to glance back it was unlikely he'd notice Punk.

Though, truth be told, it was unlikely Sheamus would take his eyes from the hot little number he'd found to chat up. She was tall and leggy, and wore a short, tight dress that showed off all her assets. And from the way she was staring at him with a star struck expression she clearly knew who Sheamus was and was flattered he was talking to her.

Punk slowly sipped his Pepsi as he watched Sheamus order drink after drink for the woman

After almost forty-five minutes, Sheamus leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. She smiled and nodded. Sheamus paid the tab and he and the woman headed for the door.

Sheamus glanced around as he held the door open for the woman. Then he followed her out into the night.

Punk was on his feet a second after the door shut. He threw a ten dollar bill on the table and hurried out the door. He was out just in time to catch a glimpse of Sheamus and the woman disappear into the alley between the bar and the next building.

Punk ran to the mouth of the alley and stopped, peering into the darkness. It was pitch black, he couldn't see or hear anything beyond a few feet.

Suddenly, he heard a thump and a brief scuffling noise. "Hey!" he yelled, "Hey, what's going on in there?'

There was a moment of silence, then Sheamus emerged from the darkness, alone. He looked surprised to see Punk.

"Punk? What are you doing here? I thought you were off the drink." Sheamus said

"Where is she?" Punk demanded.

"Where's who?" Sheamus asked, looking confused.

"That woman you went in there with!" Punk shouted. "What did you do to her?"

Sheamus looked back into the darkness of the alley, then at Punk. "Um, beggin' your pardon Punk, but are you drunk? What woman? "

Punk fumbled for his keys. He had a bright led light on his keychain and he shined it into the alley. The alley was short and dead ended to a tall wooden fence. It was empty except for a couple of trash cans.

Punk slowly approached the trash cans and flipped of the lids. One was half full of broken down boxes, the other was completely empty.

He turned the light on Sheamus who held up his hands and squinted.

"You had a woman with you, a tall brunette with a short red dress. Where did she go?"

Sheamus raised his eyebrows, and grinned. "You must be mistaken, Punk. I just stopped by the bar to have a few pints and decided I should maybe take a piss before I walked home. Don't think I'd take a woman in a back alley to watch me take a leak. "

Punk took one last searching look down the alley and switched off the light. He turned to glare at Sheamus.

"I know what you're up to, "Punk warned him. "And I'm going to see that you're stopped."

Sheamus watched Punk go. His smile slowly died. He looked down at his sleeve and shook it. A short, wooden stake dropped down into his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

"I told you, there wasn't a body; I don't know what he did with it!" C.M. Punk explained for what seemed like the hundredth time. "What part of this do you not understand? He picked up this woman at the bar, he left with her, they went into this alley, I heard a struggle. He came out alone! And then he completely denied he was ever with anyone. Doesn't that sound strange to you?"

The officer who had taken the report was staring at him skeptically, "Uh-huh, so you're telling me, there's no body, no murder weapon, you don't know the identity of the victim, and yet, you want me go and have a man arrested for murder?"

Punk exploded, "This isn't the first time something like this has happened! I'm telling you, if you don't arrest him he's going to do it again!"

The officer leaned back in this chair , "Has it occurred to you that this uh, Sheamus fella might be playing a joke on you?"

Punk took a deep breath, tried to calm down, "It is not a joke! Are you going to do anything about it or not?"

The officer slowly shook his head."Sir, I'd advise you to come back when and if you have some solid evidence. Until then, you're just wasting our time."

He dismissed Punk and turned back to his stack of paperwork.

Punk left the police station angry and frustrated. What was he going to do? For the past four months he'd observed Sheamsu's odd behavior. They would arrive in a town and Sheamus would immediately go on the prowl. He never wanted any company, and the several times Punk had just happened to run into him he was always with a woman and seemed anxious to go on about his own business. Then, one night Punk had seen him in passing opening his car door for a cute little blond. She got in and Sheamus went around to get in the driver's seat, but not before Punk had seen him pull something out of his boot. Something that looked like a knife.

Ever since then Punk had paid special attention to Sheamus's comings and goings and one thing became very clear. He never saw any of the women that Sheamus spent the night with ever again.

* * *

He went back to the hotel. He would just have to keep an eye on Sheamus.

As he entered the hotel he saw one of the Diva's, Eve, struggling with her very large suitcase and several bags.

"Hey, let me help you with that!" He hurried to her side and grabbed the suitcase.

She flashed him a smile, "Why, thank you Punk!"

He carried her suitcase into the building and then chatted casually with her while she waited to check in. Eve was one of his favorite Divas, she was definitely beautiful but she also had an impish sense of humor and had no compunctions against joining in an impromptu touch football game or hanging out and drinking beer and watching MMA.

Eve finally got checked in and received her room key. Punk helped her get her bags to the elevator and started toward the hotel restaurant. He was hungry. As he walked across the lobby he froze. Sheamus was in the lobby sitting in one of the couches pretending to read a magazine. But from where he was Punk could clearly see he wasn't interested in the magazine at all.

He was watching Eve.

Punk walked up the pale Irishman and stuck his index finger in the magazine, pulling it down until he could see Sheamus's face.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Sheamus looked back at him mildly, "Just relaxing, reading a magazine." He replied.

"Really?" Punk cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the magazine's cover, "Crochet World?"

Sheamus was non plussed, "Aye, in Ireland all men crochet! You have to be a real man to be able to turn a chain properly. "

Punk gave him a dirty look, "I may not be able to prove what you're doing yet, but I'm warning you. Leave Eve alone."

Sheamus folded the magazine and gave him a quizzical look, "Are you her father? Because the last time I checked you certainly weren't mine."

Punk grabbed him by the front of the shirt and thrust his face into the other man's.

"I know what you've been doing to those women." He hissed," The police won't do anything about it but I will. Stay away from her or I will make you wish you were never born."

Sheamus 's eyes narrowed, "I don't know what you're talking about Punk, but maybe you should take some of your own advice. Eve's out of your league, Punk. Leave her for the real men."

He stood, rolled his magazine and strode away.

* * *

Punk pounded on Eve's door. "Eve! Eve, it's me, Punk!"

He heard footsteps and then the lock opened. The door opened a crack and he saw her peer out.

"Punk?" she said in surprise.

"Yeah, can I come in?"

"Uh, sure." She opened the door the rest of the way and let him in.

She was wearing different clothes and her hair was wet, as if she'd just taken a shower.

She picked up a comb and began to pull it through her hair. "So," she asked, "What's up?"

"Has Sheamus tried to talk you today?" he asked.

Eve's brow wrinkled, "How did you know? He just called me like five minutes ago and asked if I wanted to grab dinner with him."

Punk's breath froze,"What did you say?"

Eve shrugged, "I told him sure. Why not?"

"Don't go!" Punk said.

Eve looked surprised, "Uhm, why?"

Punk cast about, trying to come up with a good reason. Finally he said, "Tell him you're going to have dinner with me!"

Eve's mouth dropped open, "With you?"

"Yeah, "Punk said, "I mean...I figured it might be a good thing for us to, you know, get to know each other a little better?" He gave the big eyed puppy dog look that usually melted the girls like butter.

A smile slowly graced Eve's lips, "Well, sure, " she said sounding pleased. "I'll call him and tell him that I forgot I had plans with you tonight."

"Great!" Punk said, "Let me go take a quick shower and I'll meet you down in the lobby in half an hour."

* * *

When Punk came downstairs a half hour later, the lobby was empty. He frowned as he looked around, where was Eve? He waled up to the reception desk and asked the woman on duty, "Excuse me, have you see a woman, about yea tall, long brown hair, very pretty, waiting for someone down here?"

The woman nodded,"As a matter of fact I did. I think I saw her headed toward the hotel bar with a man."

Punk froze, "A man? Could you describe this...man?"

"Oh, yes, tall, very, very red hair, pale skin. You couldn't miss him."

Punk raced toward the bar.

Eve was sitting at the bar, chin in one hand and a glass of wine in the other as she sat listening to Sheamus with a rapt expression. As Punk walked up to him he hear Sheamus say"...and my Uncle just said, well, that's what you get for bringing a honeycomb and a donkey into a brothel!"

Eve laughed, covering her mouth, "Oh my goodness, Sheamus. You shouldn't tell me these things. It'll completely change the way I see you!"

"That might not be so bad a thing, eh lass?" He said with a smile.

Punk cleared his throat and Eve saw him and smiled,"Oh, hi Punk!"

"Hi Eve," Punk said glaring at Sheamus,"I couldn't find you in the lobby."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " she said putting her glass of wine down. I came down a little early and ran into Sheamus. He asked if I wanted to get a quick drink while I waited."

Sheamus, sat back on his stool and took a pull from his pint of Guiness. "It's not nice to keep a lady waiting, Punk." he commented.

Eve stood up, "Well, I'll talk to you later Sheamus. You can tell me some more stories."

He grinned and chucked her under the chin,"It's a date!"

Eve linked her arm through Punk's as they walked through the lobby.

"So, where are we going?" she asked.

"There's a little Italian place not far from here."Punk replied,"Makes the absolute best tortellini you've ever tasted."

"Mmmmm, sounds great, "she said looking him in the eyes, "I'm starving."

* * *

The restaurant was close to closing when they got there but Punk discretely slipped the staff some cash and soon they were enjoying great tortellini and wine by candlelight. They were the only two diners in the place and even though his mind was on Sheamus Punk found Eve's company extremely pleasant.

After they were finished eating, Eve insisted they have a slow twirl around the dance floor. Punk had to admit, he really wanted to make sure she was safe from Sheamus, but this wasn't too bad. There were worse things than spending an intimate date with a beautiful woman in his arms.

"Oh, Punk" Eve sighed, tracing a finger across his chest, "I'm so glad we're here. You know I've always kind of liked you."

"I like you too, Eve," Punk said. "I'm glad we're getting the chance to get to know each other better."

She snuggled her cheek against his chest, "Why don't you take me back to your room, and we can get to know each other a whole lot better?"

Punk briefly considered, but then closed his eyes and sighed. He was pretty sure she was at least a little drunk. He didn't drink and the bottle of wine they'd had with dinner was empty.

"Eve, as much as I'd love to take you up on that offer, I think I should just take you back to your room and wish you a good night." he said sagely.

"But I don't want to go back to my room," She purred, "I want to stay with you."

She lifted her head and locked eyes with him. The candlelight reflected in what seemed like a million points in her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down.

_Oh, what the hell_ he thought and started to go in for a kiss.

Just before her lips met his he saw her face ripple, and somehow melt and _change._

He jerked his head back in shock,"The fuuu-?"

Eve's hands clamped on his head, her nails like claws digging into his cheeks. Her mouth was wide open and she suddenly had way too many teeth. Her formerly warm brown eyes were yellow and slitted, her canines turned into fangs.

"SHIT!" Punk bellowed as he shoved her away.

She fell back on her haunches, hissed, crouched and then leapt back on him bowling him over flat on his back. His head hit the tile floor hard and he saw stars as he desperately tried to keep his grip on her throat, keeping her at arm's length.

She was insanely strong, twisting and thrashing as she dug her thumbs into his Adams apple. Long strings of saliva drooled onto his face from her open mouth as she snapped her teeth at him.

"Ogg, God!" Punk retched.

Just as Punk thought his arms were going to give out and he was going to get his throat ripped out by this..this _thing _on top of him, the door banged open. Sheamus came out of nowhere and Brogue kicked her in the head.

If her head had been a football he would have sent it through the goal posts at 60 yards, that was how hard he kicked her, with the entire weight of his body behind a size 14 boot. Shockingly, it wasn't enough to knock her out but it was enough to fling her off of Punk and sent her spinning across the floor.

Punk rolled to his knees, gagging and scrubbing his face. He saw Sheamus striding purposefully after Eve, pulling a sharp, pointy object from the pocket of his vest. It looked like a….

A wooden stake?

Eve was trying to get back up but Sheamus stomped her back down with a boot to the chest. He knelt on top of her, planted a knee in her solar plexus and raised the stake above his head as he intoned, "Get thee gone, unclean thing. The power of Christ compels you!"

He stabbed down with the stake but Eve twisted at the last moment and slammed the heel of her hand into his face. Sheamus dropped the stake and it went clattering across the floor into the shadows. Eve threw Sheamus off her and exploded to her feet.

Sheamus remained unfazed.

He spun around as Eve lunged at him, deftly avoiding her claws. He pulled the Celtic cross he habitually wore from beneath his vest and held it up to her eyes. Her face contorted with hatred.

"You think that trinket will protect you?" She hissed.

Sheamus replied, "As much as my faith will protect my soul, you hideous creature."

Eve picked up a table and threw it at him. It struck him a glancing blow on the shoulder and knocked him into the corner against a mop and bucket half filled with dirty water. He picked up the bucket as she charged him, jammed it over her head and then dropkicked it. She staggered, tripped over a chair and went crashing through another table.

He grabbed the mop from the floor, stepped on the head and with a hard jerk broke off the wooden handle.

He ducked as she yanked the bucket off of her head and whipped it at him. He whirled and plunged the splintered end of the handle right through the center of Eve's chest.

Eve screamed. It was a horrible, unholy sound that made C.M. Punk clamp his hands over his ears. As she screamed, her body seemed to desiccate, drying up from the inside out. Within 30 seconds she was a dried husk that disintegrated into fine ash.

Punk sat there, shocked beyond words or movement.

He heard footsteps. Someone was standing in front of him. He looked up at Sheamus

The Irishman held out his hand. Punk automatically took it and let the Celtic Warrior pull him to his feet.

"So, Punk," Sheamus said cheerfully," What say we go and have a pint? I'll buy."

"I don't drink," Punk said numbly, staring at the pile of dust that had once been Eve.

Sheamus shrugged, "I'll buy you a Pepsi, then. But, I think it's time you and me had a talk."


	3. Chapter 3

C.M. Punk watched as Sheamus downed his third Guinness and ate another nacho. He seemed to be in a remarkably good mood for having just killed someone and watched her dissolve into a bucketful of dust.

"You know, I really shouldn't be eating these," Sheamus said, popping another cheese covered chip in his mouth, "They go right to me arse, but I always feel peckish after a kill. You sure you don't want some?"

Punk shook his head, clearing his throat and impatiently tapping his fingernails on the table. Sheamus looked at him, finished chewing and swallowed.

"I suppose you're wanting an explanation for what happened back there?" he asked.

"Uh, _yeah_." Punk said. "Because, otherwise, I have no choice but to believe I have a brain tumor, and this is one massive hallucination."

"It's simple, really," Sheamus said, wiping his fingers on a napkin and taking another swallow of beer. "And I can explain it in one word."

"OK," Punk said, "And that word is…?"

"Vampire," Sheamus said, his Irish Brogue softening the word into something into something that sounded more like _vahmpyrre._

Punk stared at him, mouth agape. Then shook his head rapidly,"No, no, no. You see what you just did there? You _lied_. You said one word would make everything simple. But the word 'vampire' makes everything sooo much more complicated. Oh my God, you're insane. I'm an accessory to murder, I'm going to prison." He dropped his head into his hands.

Sheamus laughed heartily and clapped Punk on the back."Ah, Punk, yer a funny fellow!"

Punk shook his head," yeah man," he said weakly, "I'm hilarious. So, what do we do now?"

Sheamus caught the eye of the bartender and signaled for another beer,"About what?"

"Eve," Punk said, "People are going to be looking for her."

Sheamus dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "No one will ever look for her. She'll miss work, eventually Vince will get angry and fire her but she'll have no family, no loved ones weeping for her. She was a vampire and they generally don't send out missing persons reports for their own. Believe me; I've done this a thousand times."

A thousand—

Punk stared at him, "Just who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Sheamus stuck his hand out. "Sheamus O'Shaunessy, Vampire hunter, as was me father before me and his father before him. "

Punk numbly shook his hand."So, that woman I saw you with the other night…"

"Vampire", Sheamus said.

"And all those chicks you've been picking up in every city we go to…"

"Vampires", Sheamus repeated patiently

"Oh, my god," Punk put his head in his hands again.

"See what I said?" Sheamus asked cheerfully," One word, it explains everything."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight, you hunt vampires. That's your 'life's calling'?" They were walking back to the hotel and Punk was still trying to wrap his head around the revelation of 'Sheamus the Vampire Slayer'.

"Aye," the Irishman affirmed.

"So what the hell are you doing moonlighting as a professional wrestler?" Punk asked.

Sheamus shrugged."I go where I'm needed. And I do need a day job to pay the bills. There's been a recent resurgence of vampiric activity in professional wrestling, especially the WWE. I suspect there is a Master vampire in our midst, converting wrestlers one by one into his minions."

Punk stopped in his tracks, "Wait, you mean there could be more of those…vampires working with us?"

Sheamus nodded, "I'm positive of it. Vampires have always been attracted to professional wrestling. It affords them camouflage, the opportunity to travel all over the world, come into contact with hundreds of thousands of people and if they are seen as a bit odd, what of it? It's all taken as part of their gimmick. It is the same reason you can almost always find a vampire or two traveling with a circus or a carnival or a rock and roll band. "

Punk ran his hand over his hair,"So, just how many more do you think are running around in the WWE?"

"I'm not exactly sure." Sheamus said. "I wasn't even sure Eve was a vampire. I suspected, but until she tried to kill you, I was not sure. If I am right, and there is a Master vampire among us and he is not stopped, then not only will he eventually convert every one of us into a creature like him but he will have all of the WWE's power, money and influence behind him."

"I take it that wouldn't be a good thing." Punk said dryly.

"Narp," Sheamus said. "There is an ancient prophecy of a thousand year twilight, and I'm not meaning like those movies with that poufy sparkly fellow. I mean a time when vampires rule the world and humans are herded like cattle or driven below the earth like vermin."

Punk swallowed. "Yeah, that would really suck." He took a deep breath,"So, what can I do?"

Sheamus fixed him with a skeptical look, "You? You do nothing. You go about your life and pretend none of this happened. And since now you know the truth you can stop stalking me through every city we travel through. Frankly, I found it a wee bit creepy to look about and see you watching me around every corner."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" Punk said holding up a hand, "You lay this vampire, end of the world as we know it, crap on me and then you expect me to sit around and do _nothing_?"

Sheamus gave him a curt nod, "Yawp."

"I can't do that!" Punk protested."I can't pretend that nothing is going on."

"You can and you _will_ Philip Jack Brooks," Sheamus said sternly.

Punk was taken aback. No one, except his mother, had called him by his real name for years.

"If you value your life," Sheamus continued, "And if you value the lives of those you love, you will pretend you know nothing. This is not a game and these creatures are not to be trifled with. This is a war I've spent my entire life fighting. You can only hope to get yourself killed."

They'd arrived at the hotel and Sheamus stepped into the elevator. He pointed his index finger at Punk as the elevator doors closed, "Forget everything you've seen tonight, Punk. To do otherwise will only bring you misery and woe." The doors shut, leaving Punk to stare at his own reflection.

* * *

Vampires.

C.M. Punk shook his head as he headed toward his own room.

Sheamus was crazy. But if Sheamus was crazy then he must be too for hadn't he seen with his own eyes Eve's face morph from something beautiful into something monstrous and terrifying?

_With really, really long fangs._

And hadn't he seen her disintegrate into a pile of dust?

Vampires, disguised as wrestlers! It was preposterous, absurd! But what other explanation made sense?

_Once you eliminate the impossible_,_ whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._

C.M. Punk, a closet Trekkie, could hear the words of the wise Mr. Spock in his mind. But what exactly was impossible?

He'd reached his hotel room and inserted the keycard. The hotel bed was calling to him; a good night's sleep would surely help him sort things out.

The minute he closed the door behind him, he knew he wasn't alone.

"_slayer" _a voice hissed. Then the darkness exploded.

Punk had always been blessed with razor sharp reflexes and those reflexes were the only thing that saved him. He instantly dropped to the floor and rolled as something flew over his head and crashed into the door.

Punk scrambled backwards on his hands and heels as his attacker gained his feet and came for him again. In the darkness, all he could see was a vague shadow. Punk rolled to his right and swept his assailant's leg, sending him crashing into the nightstand. Punk crawled to the wall and reached up, hitting the light switch.

The room flooded with light and he blinked, trying to adjust his eyes. He caught a glimpse of reddish blond hair.

"Slater?" he exclaimed.

Heath Slater, well, he was pretty sure it was Heath Slater behind the ridged brow and yellow fangs, growled.

"Punk!" Slater ground out, "Your days of hunting us are over!"

Punk slowly stood up, "Hunting you?" he said, warily eyeing the monstrosity that stood between him and the door. It was no use making a break for it. He slowly started to edge his way toward the sliding glass doors.

"We knew there was a slayer among us. We just didn't know until tonight it was you. You…killed Eve." For a moment, Slater's face contorted in …grief?

"She gave me no choice," Punk said evenly. "She attacked me. And now I'll kill you too. "

"It doesn't matter if you kill me tonight, Punk. We know who you are now. You can't kill us all. We'll come for you again and again and again. There are more of us than you know."

Punk's eye fell on something on the floor. It was the Gideon's bible knocked out of the nightstand when Slater fell against it.

He lunged toward it at the same time Slater leaped for him, fangs bared. Punk snatched up the bible, rolled onto his back and thrust it into Slater's face. The bible smacked him in the face which instantly sizzled. Punk smelled burning flesh. Slater screamed and reeled backwards clutching his smoking cheek.

Punk backed him up with the bible, hitting him again and again on the head and shoulders. He felt ridiculous attacking this man/thing with this tiny little book but it seemed effective enough. Slater stumbled blindly through the open sliding door onto the balcony. Punk hit him with a roundhouse kick that slammed him hard against the railing. Punk didn't hesitate. He charged and hit Slater with a running clothesline and flipped him over the balcony. But instead of plummeting to the terrace below, Slater seemed to float in the air.

"You're dead slaayyerrrrrr…..!" he hissed.

Then his shape shrank, grew wings and flapped away.

* * *

Punk banged on Sheamus's door for what seemed like a good five minutes before the Irishman finally unlocked and opened it.

"Punk!" he exclaimed. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"No! I was attacked by another one of those…those _things!_" Punk said pushing his way into Sheamus's room.

"Well, come on in then," Sheamus said and closed the door.

"You encountered another vampire?" He asked doubtfully, "And you're still alive?"

"Do I look alive?" Punk said sarcastically.

"Hmmm, I don't know" Sheamus said,"let me see your throat."

It took him a second to realize Sheamus wasn't joking. He pulled his collar down to give him a good view of his throat.

Sheamus inspected his neck carefully before he was satisfied.

"Who attacked you?" He asked.

Punk plunked down into the sofa, "Heath Slater."

Sheamus's face crinkled in confusion, "Heath Slater? He's a vampire? Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure, either that or Slater's gotten a whole lot uglier in the last 24 hours." Punk said.

Sheamus shook his head. "I don't understand. Male vampires prefer nubile young women. They only go after human males when women are in short supply. Why the bloody feck would Slater attack you?"

"Because they think I'm you!" Punk yelled.

Sheamus looked mildly insulted, "Well, the bloody nerve! I don't look a thing like you! No offense, but you've got that swarthy pirate thing going. It's not my cup of tea."

"No, no, no you fool!" Punk said in exasperation, "He thought I was the one killing all the vampires. He kept calling me _slayer.__"_

Sheamus looked bemused, "Well, that complicates things."

"You think?" Punk said. "So what do we do now?"

"You leave," Sheamus said.

"What?" Punk looked at him in disbelief.

"You leave," Sheamus repeated. "You quit the WWE, you go home."

"Screw that! Do you know how hard I worked to get to where I am? I'm not running anywhere!" Punk said hotly.

"What did I tell you before, Punk?" Sheamus demanded, "Do you value your life? This is not a game."

"Do you think I'm playing?" Punk retorted. "I've just been nearly eaten for the second time tonight! You're the hotshot vampire hunter. Teach me how to fight these things!"

Sheamus leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "No."

Punk stared at him, incredulous, "Why not?" He demanded.

Sheamus shrugged,"I don't have the time to train you and I don't need someone to look after. I have a job here, one that might be greater than I first thought. I don't need a Robin to my Batman or a Sam to my Frodo. I don't need a sidekick."

"I ain't no sidekick!" Punk said angrily. "And I don't need to be looked after! I can take care of myself! I can pull my own weight!"

Sheamus shook his head, "You've no idea what you are asking. I've trained to hunt these creatures since I was 12 years old. It takes the deepest dedication to be a vampire hunter, the most serious mind. You have to be willing to put everything else aside, sacrifice your job, your relationships and if necessary, your life."

"Look," Punk said. "They already think that I'm the one hunting them. I'm not running anywhere and even if I did they would probably follow me wherever I went. They're not going to stop until I'm dead. Now, you can either help me, or you can be the one responsible when they finally tear me to pieces."

Sheamus sighed heavily, reluctantly, "Ah, feck Punk, why couldn't you just keep your nose out of my business?"


	4. Chapter 4

Punk had expected to meet Sheamus at the gym or a martial arts dojo, or even a damn YMCA but this-?

He double checked the address the Sheamus had given him last night, written on a cocktail napkin. Yep, this was indeed the place. He wondered if the Irishman was having a joke at his expense.

He parked his car and stared glumly at the Chesterfield Public Library. He hated books. If he wanted to read he would have opened a bookstore, a not become a wrestler. Well, he could always hope there was a secret vampire hunter training facility in the basement. Wasn't that how they did it on "Buffy"?

Inside he spotted Sheamus immediately. He was leaning against the checkout desk and flirting idly with the librarian who seemed absolutely fascinated by every word coming out of his mouth. As Punk approached them, he realized Sheamus was regaling her with one of his fantastic tales of life back in Ireland.

"…and to this day," Sheamus was saying, "me granda' refuses to go to the outhouse without a flashlight and a nine iron!"

The pretty blond dissolved into laughter, "Oh my god! I can't believe you and your brother did that!" She shook her head, and gave him an arch look,"Tell me, is that really a true story or is that a bit of the famous Irish Blarney?"

Sheamus winked at her, "I'll take you home with me one of these days and you can ask 'im yerself."

Punk cleared his throat loudly," Er, uh-hemm….hemmm…..hheeem…..…hmmmmm...mmmmm". "

Sheamus finally looked over. "Ah, Punk!" he said lazily, "Meet Miranda, the bonniest lass this side of the Shannon. Miranda, this is Punk. Now, don't be put off by him. The longer you look at him, the less ugly he gets!"

She glanced over at him, "Hi, nice to meet you." She said politely, before turning her batting eyelashes back on Sheamus.

"Uh, yeah, pleasure," Punk muttered, feeling a little like he was in the twilight zone. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had dismissed him so quickly, without a second look, and in favor of _Sheamus_?

He didn't think he was a particularly vain man, but he'd had girls falling over him since he was sixteen years old. Women routinely gave themselves whiplash doing double takes when they saw him. And add a smile or a wink from him and they were putty in his hands.

So, what was up with this chick that she'd rather make googly eyes at Sheamus who was as pale as a ghost and had Ronald McDonald orange hair?

Wait! Was she a vampire?

Aha! That was it, it had to be. And Sheamus was charming her just as he did the vampire women he met on the road.

It all made sense. That must be why Sheamus had brought him here, to help him get rid of this vampire. Punk stood a little straighter, ready to spring into action. Well, this was more like it! He was ready to make a kill.

"Well, Miranda me love, "Sheamus said, "As much as it pains me to trade your company for my swarthy friend here, I'm afraid we've got work to do."

"Oh, OK." She said breathlessly. "Please, let me know if there's anything else I can do for you! I mean anything!"

Sheamus took her hand and gallantly brought it to his lips. "I shall be forever in your debt."

Miranda blushed prettily and practically floated away.

"OK," Punk said in a low voice when she was out of ear shot, "I'm totally ready to do this. What's the plan? Do we do her here or do we take her somewhere more private? You get her from the front and I'll take her from behind? Or the other way around?"

Sheamus stopped and gave Punk a quizzical, faintly revolted look, "Good god man." He said, "That's a bit crude, don't you think?"

"Oh," Punk was taken aback, "Uhm, sorry. When I saw you flirting with her I thought she was….that we were going to, you know..." He curled his hand around an imaginary wooden stake and made a back and forth stabbing motion in the air.

By now Sheamus looked truly disgusted, "I don't think Miranda is that sort of girl, Punk. Have some respect for the lass. And even if she were I'm not keen on tag teaming with you in _that_ manner."

He looked Punk up and down as if seeing him in a new light, "I never took you for such a cunt, Punk."

He shook his head and turned away. Punk heard him mutter under his breath, "Bloody Americans!"

"Wait, "Punk demanded, "Aren't we going to kill her?"

Sheamus looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "And why the hell would we be wanting to kill Miranda?"

Now Punk was totally confused. "She's a vampire!"

"No." Sheamus said slowly, as if talking to someone very, very stupid, "She's a librarian."

Punk looked around the vast library and then back at Sheamus. "Please tell me there's a secret training facility down in the basement."

* * *

Sheamus led him to a table back in a dimly lit corner stacked high with dusty, ancient looking books.

Punk stared at them, "I'm supposed to read all of that?" he asked without much enthusiasm.

"Aye," Sheamus said, slipping on a pair of reading glasses and looking at him shrewdly over their tops. "You _can_ read, can't you?"

"Yes!"Punk said, insulted by Sheamus's skeptical tone, "I can read. But why am I wasting my time reading books when you should be teaching me how to kill vampires?"

Sheamus pulled a wooden stake from his pocket, flipped it into the air and caught it expertly.

"Because you must first learn to use this," he tapped Punk hard on the head, "before I can teach you to use this." He held up the stake.

Punk rubbed his head where Sheamus had thumped him and said accusingly, "You stole that from Braveheart!"

Sheamus shrugged, "Just because it's from Braveheart, doesn't make it not true, does it?" He picked up a thick tome, bound in leather with the word 'Wamphyr' inscribe on the cover in ornate Calligraphic script and handed it to Punk.

"As It is true in wrestling, it is true in hunting vampires. The more you know about an enemy, the greater your advantage. Start reading."

Punk opened the book and apathetically began to read. It wasn't as boring as he'd thought it would be. It was _much_ worse. The book dealt with the history and origin of vampires, including speculation as to when and where the first vampires came from and whether vampirism was a physical disease or a product of supernatural possession. It also went on to describe the habits of vampires, where they could be found and what could be used to deter them. On the surface, it should have been interesting reading but the language was so dry and archaic, full of 'thee's' and 'thou's', and pseudo scientific jargon that it had all the appeal of reading a tax manual. On top of that the script was tiny, cramped and hard to read. Each page was a solid block of text from top to bottom. The author could have at least thrown in a few interesting illustrations.

After about fifteen minutes of reading Punk had only gotten through three pages and his head was starting to hurt. He peeked over the top of the book and saw Sheamus sitting slumped in his chair, his book _Anatomy and Physiology of the Vampyre: Second Edition _propped open but unread. Sheamus's eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. As Punk watched him he let out a soft snore.

Punk glanced around, they were the only two people in this part of the library and it was very quiet. He reached out and slowly pulled the book from Sheamus's slack hand. As he drew the book towards him, a smaller book fell out from between its pages, as if Sheamus had been trying to conceal what he was really reading inside the larger book. Punk picked it up. _101 Easy and Colorful Crochet Patterns._

What the hell? Seriously? Punk looked over at the sleeping Sheamus. What a freak!

He shook his head and opened _Anatomy and Physiology of the Vampyre: Second Edition. _Now, this was a lot more interesting. The book contained large, colorful illustrations drawn in excruciating detail and labeled with anatomical terms. Side panels explained the differences between human and vampire anatomy as well as highlighting the most vulnerable parts of a vampire's body and how injuries in these areas could incapacitate or even kill them. Vampires, it seemed, no longer had anything resembling normal internal organs. Stomach, intestines, livers, kidneys, they were all replaced by some sort of vascular system that transported ingested blood directly to the heart to be distributed throughout the rest of the body. The heart was an even bigger mystery, for even though it no longer beat it still acted as a pump channeling blood throughout the body.

Punk had settled back down, absorbed in the structure of vampire fangs when he heard a sharp cry, startling in the dead silence of the library. The sound was cut off as abruptly as it came. He frowned and glanced over at Sheamus, who shifted slightly in his sleep and resumed snoring. Punk put the book down and stood, listening. The silence was so profound he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He slowly crept around the reference shelves, toward where he'd thought he'd heard the cry. There was no one there, and nothing out of the unusual that he could see. Wait...his eyes widened.

Just beyond the last shelf, on the floor almost out of sight, was a hand. Punk swallowed hard and ventured forward, heart jack hammering in his chest. He could see the wrist, the shapely arm, the shoulder.

It was Miranda, the bubbly blond librarian, and from the angle of her head and the vacant look in her glazing eyes, Punk knew she was dead. Nevertheless, he rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse. Her head rolled bonelessly, telling him her neck was broken. He gently rolled her body so it was aligned with her head and closed her eyes. Something, a mark, on her neck made him pause and look twice. There, on the right side of her throat, just beneath the angle of her jaw, were two large puncture wounds. Oh crap. But it was the middle of the day. What about vampires and the sunlight thing? Suddenly, he realized maybe he should have listened to Sheamus and read the book he'd been given that detailed just exactly that.

Punk slowly rose to his feet, eyes darting here and there, looking for something he could use as a weapon. Maybe he could make it back to Sheamus, wake the Irishman up and they could both take on whatever was in the library with them.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned as Heath Slater stepped into view at the far end of the aisle.

"C.M. Punk" Slater growled, his voice full of hate. The right side of his face was burned, no doubt from his last encounter with Punk and the hotel bible.

"Heath Slater." Punk replied, struggling to keep the fear out of his voice. "How ya doing, buddy? I hate to embarrass you but, I think you got something on your face there."

Slater glared, "Oh, you think you're so funny, Punk? Let's see how funny you are with your head on backwards."

Punk started to slowly back away, "I don't think you'll have to do that. I can tell you right now I'm probably not as funny with my head twisted around. Nope, definitely not funny at all."

A second vampire stepped out from around the wall on Punk's opposite side. He looked vaguely like Justin Gabriel, if Justin Gabriel grew fangs and ridges on his forehead. "Oh, I don't know Punk." he said, "Just the thought of it kind of makes me want to smile."

They had him trapped, one on either side. Slater hissed and charged down the aisle at him with unnatural speed. Punk froze for a second as he watched his death coming at him, and then did the only thing he could think of. He gave a high, yodeling scream and ran straight at Slater. For an instant, a look of surprise and doubt crossed Slater's face. Just before they collided, Punk dropped to the floor, into a baseball slide, knocking Slater clean off his feet and giving himself some serious rug burn. He started to push himself up when Gabriel kicked him hard on the sternum, knocking the wind out of him and slamming him onto his back.

Gabriel planted a boot on his throat and slowly applied more and more weight, gradually crushing his airway. Punk wildly flailed his arms and legs as his consciousness dimmed. God, was the last thing he ever saw going to be Justin Gabriel's grinning face?

There was a "twang" sound and Gabriel's chest suddenly sprouted a feathered quarrel. Gabriel stared down at it in comical surprise before his body dried up and turned to a fine dust that fell in Punk's face and open mouth.

"Pfffffttttt! Bleeechhh!" He sputtered, gasping, coughing and trying to spit the dust out. That was seriously disgusting!

Sheamus calmly reloaded the crossbow and took aim at Heath Slater who stared at him in shock.

"Sheamus?" Slater sputtered in disbelief, "You?"

"Aye," Sheamus said as he fixed Slater with a cold green gaze," Heath Slater, I should have known. You always did have a face like a slapped arse. This is actually a vast improvement."

Slater backed slowly away, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Irishman!" he hissed, "The Master is risen. Twilight is near. And your death will not be quick. You will screaming!"

"Will I?" Sheamus said mildly, "Let me make it easier for him. Tell me who this 'master' is. I will go present myself to him as a professional courtesy."

"I will present him with your _head_!" Slater said. He suddenly turned and bolted for the doors. Sheamus fired the crossbow but Slater ducked and the bolt struck the door frame, quivering. Slater burst through the doors and was gone.

Punk had pulled himself to his feet, throat still burning. "Do we go after him?" he croaked.

Sheamus shook his head as he retrieved the crossbow bolt, "Nawp. He's gone. He'll be reporting back to his master. We haven't seen the arse end of him yet."

Sheamus knelt by Miranda's body and touched her hair, "Poor lass," he said sadly."I would have liked to take you to meet my granda'. I think he would have like you." He picked up her hand and raised it to his lips. His eyes were glistening.

Punk looked away, wanting to give him some privacy in his grief.

When Sheamus stood back up his eyes were dry.

"I'm sorry about Miranda." Punk said sympathetically.

"Aye," Sheamus nodded, "As am I. But she knew the risks."

"Wait," Punk said, "are you saying that she was a...a...vampire hunter?"

Sheamus shook his head, "No, she was a civilian. But you'll find that there are times we must employ those with special knowledge or skills. They are strictly non-combatants. We try to protect them as well as we can but there are always risks. Poor Miranda was an excellent archivist with a specialty in Vrykolakas folklore. She had a vast personal collection of books on vampire lore and knew as much as anyone did on the subject."

Punk had a hard time reconciling the vapid blond as a serious scholar."Really? That woman was some kind of brain when it came to vampires?"

Sheamus fixed him with a stern look," 'That woman" as you put it, had a Ph.D. in Mythological Studies. I'll not have you scoff at her, Punk. Did you think that because she was a bit of a Steph she was as empty headed as you? I'd rather have one of her than a hundred of you! You've been an absolute cock and balls so far!"

Punk remained silent, chastened. Sheamus gathered up the books on the table and dumped them in Punk's arms.

"Well, come along," he said. "We've work to do and less time that I thought to do it in."

"Where are we going?" Punk asked.

Sheamus motioned toward the door marked _Employees only! _"To the secret facility down in the basement."


	5. Chapter 5

If you asked C.M. Punk, the 'secret facility' was kind of a disappointment. It consisted of three rooms: a small office with a computer and a large collection of antique books, a second room that looked like a studio apartment with a small kitchen and three cots and lastly what looked to be a locked storage closet.

"This is it?" C.M. Punk asked. "This is your secret underground facility?"

Sheamus looked around,"Yes, this is it. Were you expecting some vast, high tech underground lair with scientists tinkering with gadgets and martial arts experts to train you in vampire killing techniques?

"Well, yeah, kinda," Punk admitted,"I mean it would have been nice."

"You've been watching too much T.V., Punk" Sheamus said as he pulled a key ring with what looked like about 50 keys on it from his pocket and rifled through it, looking for the key to open the closet.

"Honestly," Sheamus said, trying key after key, "d'you think Vince pays me enough for me to fund all of that? I think this would be a good time to get it through yer thick skull, this is real life, not an episode of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'"

Punk looked at the brawny Irishman in surprise, "Wait, do you watch…Buffy?"

Sheamus paused, looking at him side eyed,"Um, for research purposes only, of course." He said, "I like to see what you Americans think vampire slaying is all about."

Punk raised his eyebrows skeptically, "Um hmmm," he said with a wide grin.

Sheamus scowled,"Oh, shut up Punk." He said crossly. He tried another key in the lock, muttering, "Damn Joss Whedon didn't get a thing right anyhow."

Punk shook his head, chuckling. Sheamus, master crocheter and Buffy fan! Of course, he kept the fact that he was also rather partial to Buffy to himself.

"The point I'm trying to make, Punk," Sheamus continued, "is that we won't have the help of a vast government initiative, or a counsel of Watchers. Ah, here's the key. All we have to rely on is our wits, which in your case are sadly lacking, and this!"

He threw open the door. Punk looked inside. His jaw dropped.

It was by far, the largest arsenal he'd ever seen.

The room, which from the outside looked like a mere storage closet, was about eight feet wide and twenty feet deep. It looked rough, and unfinished, as if it were dug straight under the foundation of the library building and shored up with plywood and two by fours. And lined, wall to wall, floor to ceiling were weapons of every shape and description.

Punk slowly wandered inside looking around like a kid in a candy shop. He saw high powered rifles, hand guns, swords, and crossbows. He also saw numerous weapons he didn't recognize, pointy metal rods, something that looked like a boomerang with razor sharp edges.

"Damn, now this is impressive," he said reaching out a finger to touch the sharpened boomerang looking thing.

Sheamus smacked his hand. "Don't touch that!" he warned.

Punk snatched his hand back, "Damn it, Sheamus!" he burst out, "Stop that! Stop treating me like I'm an idiot!"

Sheamus rolled his eyes, "You _are_ an idiot, Punk. " He said, picking up a wooden stake from the rack next to him. "But thanks to me, you won't be a _fingerless_ idiot." He tapped the boomerang with the stake. The blade whicked around like it was on a spring loaded trigger, shearing the wooden stake in half. Sheamus tossed the stump to Punk who reflexively caught it, staring wide eyed.

"Now, "Sheamus said, "If you want to be called 'Stumpy' for the rest of your life, by all means, go ahead, start touching things. Go ahead. Yea, that pointy one. Touch that one!"

Punk dropped the stump, pointed at Sheamus with both hands, his mouth working silently. Sheamus waited curiously, watching Punk's face turn various shades of red. Finally, Punk let out an incoherent growl of frustration, "Arrrgghhh!" and walked out of the room.

Sheamus shook his head, wondering if there was history of mental illness in Punk's family. He grabbed a large canvas bag and began loading it with weapons.

Punk stalked into the apartment and threw himself down on a cot. This was ridiculous! What was he doing here? He was getting sick of being Sheamus's punchline. Given the chance he could run circles around that pasty Irishman!

Sheamus walked in carrying a heavy canvas bag and nudged him with a foot. "I'm ready to go. C'mon Punk, stop sulking. We've got a job to do."

"I'm not sulking," Punk said sulkily.

Sheamus pulled out a wicked looking battle ax from the bag and waved it under Punk's nose.

"I've got weapons," he said enticingly.

Punk raised his head, "Well," he said, trying not to sound too interested, "I guess…" He sat up and grabbed the ax. Now this was more like it! The ax fit in his hand as if it were molded to it. He tried a few practice swipes; the heft and balance of the weapon were superb. The edges looked to be razor sharp.

"Hey," he said, pleased despite himself, "This is what I'm talking about! Hey Sheamus, look!"

He jumped on top of the cot and did a cool swinging backfist move with the ax that would have taken the head off of any vampire in his way. He jumped off the cot, did a tuck and roll and jumped lightly to his feet, nodding at the ax in satisfaction. "Cool moves, huh?"

Sheamus straightened up from the sudden crouch he'd had to drop into to avoid getting decapitated by the ax and gingerly felt his hair to make sure it was all still there. Without saying a word, he firmly took the ax away from Punk and replaced it with plastic squirt gun. He hefted the bag over his shoulder and walked out into the hall.

Punk looked at the toy, aghast, "Hey, hey! C'MON!" he shouted after Sheamus. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Holy water!" Sheamus called over his shoulder.

* * *

"Now, Punk, did it ever occur to you to wonder just how those vampires in the library were traipsing around as free as you please during the middle of the afternoon?" Sheamus asked.

Punk shrugged, looking glumly at the super soaker in his hand. "I guess, " he said.

Sheamus looked at him, "Well, do you have any ideas?" he asked.

Punk thought a moment, "Uhm, sunscreen?" He guessed.

Sheamus's face wrinkled in pain, " Mother of mercy- SUNSCREEN!" he almost roared."NO! Not suncreen! Are ye completely daft!" He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He glowered at Punk and caught him trying to hide a grin. "Punk!" he barked, "Are you slaggin' me?"

Punk burst out into wild laughter, slapping his knee. Sheamus pursed his mouth and stared at Punk with his arms crossed disapprovingly across his chest. Punk's laughter tapered off but the moment he looked up and saw Sheamus's face, as sour and as disapproving as a schoolmarm he burst out all over again.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry." he finally said, tapering off to giggles, "Yeah, yeah, I _did_ wonder how Slater jumped out into the light of day. Please, teach me oh wise master."

Sheamus snorted,"Well I'm glad I could amuse you," he said sarcastically. "Vampires, as you know, cannot abide the light of the sun. If they are exposed to it long enough, it will destroy them. Therefore, they must use other means of egress during the day time."

He pointed to a small, circular metal port in the wall. "Underneath the town there is a network of tunnels through which the vampires travel during the day. There is another port, right in front of the library entrance. I believe our friends Slater and Gabriel made use of these tunnels to surprise us."

Punk looked at the port," So, these tunnels run all over the city?"

Sheamus nodded,"It's the perfect way for them to travel while avoiding notice."

"And, let me guess, we're going in these tunnels as well?" Punk asked. Great, he was slightly claustrophobic and hated tight spaces.

Sheamus's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise,"Maybe there's hope fer ye after all, Punk!"

* * *

Sheamus used a metal tool, shaped a little bit like a crowbar to open the port. He threw down the bag of weapons and then motioned for Punk to go down the hole.

"You want me to go first?" Punk asked doubtfully, peering down into the darkness.

"Aye," Sheamus said, "there is a ladder bolted to the wall, turn on your torch when you get to the bottom, ye'll be fine. I've got to close it back up here."

Punk lowered himself down into the hole and felt around with his feet for the rungs of the ladder. The cold metal was wet and slick and he had concentrate in order to not lose his footing and fall god knows how far down into the darkness. Sheamus dropped into the hole above him and dragged the heavy metal cover over the port. They were instantly plunged into total darkness and he had to fight the urge to panic. All he had to do was go down one rung at a time and then he could turn on his flashlight at the bottom. He heard scraping from above as Sheamus secured the cover and then shuffling as the Irishman made his way down.

The climb down wasn't as long as he'd thought it would be After about twenty or so rungs, he felt solid ground under his feet. Well, kind of solid, actually the ground felt kind of wet and squishy. He stepped over to make room for Sheamus and turned on his flashlight. It's bright beam played over solid concrete walls.

Sheamus leapt lightly to the ground next to him and turned on his own light. He bent down and picked up the bag of weapons and started down the tunnel

Punk wrinkled his nose. Something down here stunk!

"Phew!" he said as he followed Sheamus,"Something reeks like a sewer down here."

Sheamus gave him an amused look, "That would be because we are _in_ the sewers, Punk." he said.

Punk stopped in his tracks, "You mean...we're walking in...this is...ugh! It's on my _shoes_ man!"he was absolutely disgusted. He felt his gorge rise. He was going to throw up.

Sheamus sighed and leaned against the wall as Punk blew his lunch all over the floor, then dry heaved for several minutes after that. "Honestly, Punk," he said, "What did you think I meant by tunnels? Didja really think that vampires have a core of engineers building these nice concrete tunnels underneath the city? And I didn't think you were such a fastidious man any way. You always look as if you've half a engine's worth of grease in yer hair.".

Punk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He still felt like urping. God the _smell_, it was even worse now that he knew what it was.

"This is not grease!" he said indignantly, pointing at his slicked back hair, "it is a special hair gel made for active lifestyles!"

Sheamus snorted, "Hair gel? Can it double as floor wax well?" He resumed walking, taking a wide turn around the puddle of C.M. Punk's puke. "I've never seen hair that wouldn't move a mite like yours, except p'raps the plastic hair on a ken doll. Is that look yer idea or Vince's?"

Punk grabbed his flashlight and jogged to catch up with him "Hey, I wouldn't be talking if I were you ya...pasty white...albino looking fuck!"

Sheamus rolled his eyes, "Ooooh, you wound me, Punk. I've never heard _that_ one before."

Punk was getting steamed. He was tired of being insulted, tired of being treated like a second banana. "Look, you gotta problem with me? You wanna go right here?"

"Shut up, Punk!" Sheamus hissed. He stopped in his tracks, staring at something in the next tunnel.

"NO! I won't shut up." Punk said even more loudly, "I'm tired of shutting up. Let's settle this right here and now!"

Sheamus smacked him lightly on the face and jabbed a finger toward the tunnel ahead. Punk looked where he was pointing.

There was junction ahead, where two tunnels met and went in different directions. Something was moving there in the darkness. Punk slowly trained his flashlight toward the movement.

The shapes separated, grew more defined and distinct as nearly a dozen pairs of eyes reflected back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Long ago, when he was a scrawny kid growing up in Chicago, C.M. Punk had been jumped by a group of bullies on the way to school. They had beaten him until he was nearly unconscious, stole his watch and his lunch money and threw his pants and backpack into a ditch. It was that beating that prompted Punk to learn not only how to defend himself but to learn how to actively kick the shit out of anyone who messed with him again.

He'd never again been as scared as he'd been when he faced those five bullies, until now.

"Ohhhh….craaaappppp…."he breathed. He started praying he wouldn't die and if he did, that he'd at least die with clean underwear.

"Steady, fella," Sheamus murmured at him under his breath, "don't let them see yer fear! If ye can't be a man at least try to put on a good show!"

The vampires, there were eleven of them by Punk's count, slowly converged, warily eyeing their weapons. Sheamus casually unslung his crossbow, "Well," he said in a voice thick with contempt, "I guess the myths of giant rats in the sewers are true. C'mon then, which of ye overgrown mosquitoes wish to die first?"

"Irishman…." One of the vampires hissed. His voice sounded like slithering snakes rubbing together. "We know it is you….."

Sheamus cocked his head, "Ye have me at an advantage then," he remarked, then squinted, "wait…I know ye….Jinder Mahal, is that you, fella? And that big galoot behind you is Ryback! The master is certainly scraping the bottom of the barrel for disciples! s_hoot them_"

Ryback growled," You are finished, Sheamus! We know Punk is just your inept pupil. We will kill him easily but you…you we will make suffer!"

"Hey,"Punk exclaimed hotly, "Whaddaya mean _inept?_"

Sheamus grinned crookedly, "Careful what ya say there, fella. Punk here is a much better killer than I am. Thousands of kills to his name. I wouldn't piss him off. He makes me look like a bleedin' fool when it comes to dispatching the likes of ye. He's been kind enough to teach me some of his vamp dusting secrets. s_hoot them, you eejit!"_

Punk blinked as he finally realized Sheamus was whispering side mouth under his breath to _him. _He glanced down at the plastic water gun in his hands. Of course!

"YAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!" He suddenly screamed and jumped forward pulling the trigger of the water gun and spraying the vamps with holy water and mercilessly mowing them down like a field of wheat. He was James Bond, he was Jason Bourne, he was mother fucking Rambo! The little crowd of vamps jumped back in surprise and fear.

Except…he forgot to pump the Super Soaker before pulling the trigger. Instead of a high pressure blast of blessed water dissolving vampires like acid, what he got was a pathetic little squirt that splashed a couple of drops on Jinder Mahal's leg before dying down to a weak trickle.

"Ow!"Mahal yelled, jumping up and down like a man who's stubbed his toe and slapping at the smoking drops. "Get them!" he screamed.

"Punk, ye fecking gobdaw!" Sheamus groaned as the vampire hoard charged. There was a 'twang' as he loosed a shot from his crossbow that buried itself in the chest of a teenage looking boy. The boy's expression changed from fury to sudden fear and doubt before he desiccated into an ash pillar. The vampire behind him ran right through his remains, ash exploded into the air.

Punk backpedaled, had enough time to pump the water gun once before three of the vamps were on him, bowling him over into the muck of the sewer. He managed to thrust the barrel of the gun between the teeth of the one directly on top of him and pulled the trigger. The vampire's gargled scream dissolved like his head, before the rest of his body crumbled into dust.

Punk pistol whipped a second vampire, breaking the cheap plastic gun and spraying her with what was left of the holy water. The vampire rolled away clutching at her chest and screaming. The water ate through her flesh, uncovered the stark bones of her ribcage before dissolving her heart like a tablet of Alka Seltzer.

The third vampire went straight for Punk's throat. He shoved the remains of the broken grip from the gun between her teeth, effectively gagging her with her mouth wide open. He punched her in the jaw as hard as he could. She rolled off of him, clawing at her throat, choking.

Sheamus, meanwhile, was a blur as he reloaded twice, and with deadly calm accuracy, shot two more of the vampires in the heart before the remainder pressed too close for the crossbow. He dropped the crossbow and drew two long, silver daggers, swiftly beheading the next vampire in line. The rest of the vamps drew back, cautiously as Sheamus twirled the daggers and grinned at them with a come-hither look.

"Come on, ye soulless bastards, come at me!" He taunted, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Ryback shoved through the others, his eyes blood red. He slapped his own bald head and flexed.

"Feed me more!" he roared.

Sheamus shook his head as flipped one of the daggers over, holding it lightly by the tip.

"Ah, Ryback, nice to see becoming a bleedin' bloodsucker hasn't robbed you of your famous wit. Eat this!" He flung the dagger straight at Ryback's face. It buried itself to the hilt in his open mouth. Before anyone could blink, Sheamus had thrown the other dagger, which hit Ryback square in the chest and dusted him before his expression could even change.

"Kill him!" Jinder Mahal bellowed, charging. Sheamus spun and ducked around the corner where Punk was huddled.

Sheamus nudged him with a foot, "Gosh, Punk, sorry to disturb yer repose, but I'd sure appreciate some assistance, that is if yer not too busy or anything..."

"You never taught me how to fight these things!" Punk protested, ducking as Sheamus leaped over him and hit Mahal with a double ax handle. Mahal staggered as the remaining two vampires grabbed Sheamus by the arms.

"The Devil take ye Punk!" Sheamus bellowed, "fight 'm like you'd do any other man, and stab 'em in the heart with something sharp…. And don't get bit!" He lunged forward hauling the two vampires who had him by the arms forward, and then ran a few steps up the wall, did a back flip and grabbed one of the two vamps by the head as he came down, twisting it around and breaking its neck as he landed in a crouch on his feet. In spite of himself, Punk was deeply impressed. Jindar Mahal, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, made a break for it and took off down one of the tunnels.

The other vampire, a young woman who looked like she'd been a heroin addict before her unfortunate transformation, stood and gawked in disbelief at Sheamus's acrobatics. Punk took the opportunity to tackle her about the knees. She went down with a shriek and a splat in the thick, murky goo.

Punk tried to get a good grip on her but the sewer slime made her as slippery as an oiled eel. He grabbed her by the arm, then lost his grip, smacking himself in the face.

"Argg!" he spat in disgust as he splattered himself in the eye. The vampire was squirming, trying to turn on him and bury her fangs in his throat. He had her in death grip around the waist, his chin buried between her shoulder blades. She hissed and wailed and rolled around and around as he hung on like a cowboy riding a bull. It was like mud wrestling except instead of mud, it was liquefied shit.

"Sheamus!" he bellowed.

Sheamus stepped up, grabbed the very same ax he'd taken away from Punk earlier and buried it in the vampire's skull.

The vampire went from bucking wildly to a spastic twitching of limbs. Punk let go of her and backed off as her arms and legs drummed wildly. She looked like she was having a seizure.

"She's still twitching. Finish her off!" Sheamus yelled as he turned and pelted down the tunnel after Jindar Mahal.

Punk sat in the muck, gagging and dry heaving. If his stomach weren't already empty he'd be puking into his lap. Crap, literally, was caked on his clothes, it was up his nose, in his beard. It was clotted in his _hair._ He'd never get the smell out!

He hauled himself to his feet, hacking and spat up sour stomach acid. He reached down, grabbed the ax handle, braced his foot against the vamp's shoulder and yanked it out of her head. It pulled loose with a thick wet, sucking sound that made him want to throw up again. He raised the ax over his head and brought it down on her neck with all his strength. Her head popped off of her neck like a wine cork. An instant later she turned into dust.

He dropped the ax and let his head fall back. He tried breathing through his mouth so he didn't have to smell the crap but then it seemed like he could taste it so he shut his mouth again. What the hell was he even doing here?

He started off in the direction Sheamus had gone but then saw the vampire chick down whose throat he'd stuffed the remains of the water gun. She was curled up in the corner, still choking. Her terrified eyes were on him and as he watched he saw a single bloody tear trail down her cheek. He looked around and spotted the bag of weapons. He picked it up and rummaged through it until he found one of the wooden stakes. He stood over the vampire, stake poised, feeling a little sick, and not from the stench of the sewers. She was helpless, dying. Despite himself, he felt pity for her.

"Sorry," he whispered as he knelt and stabbed her in the chest with the stake. Her back arched in pain as she writhed but she didn't crumble into dust. He frowned, had he stabbed her too low?

"Shit," he muttered as he pulled the stake back out and tried again. This time he must have hit her heart for within seconds she was nothing but a pile of dust.

He rose to his feet, grabbed the bag and hurried after Sheamus.

The tunnel led to a large chamber that split into four different outlets. C.M. Punk found Sheamus scrutinizing the outlets, trying to determine which one Mahal had fled down. Punk dropped the bag of weapons to the ground but kept the ax. If Sheamus wanted it back he'd have to pry it from his cold, dead fingers.

"Which way did he go?" he asked.

Sheamus glanced back at him and did a double take, "Bleedin' Jaysus, man!" he said looking Punk up and down, "Ye look like a pig dipped in shit!"

Punk scowled, feeling especially irritated when he noticed that Sheamus was virtually spotless. Expect for the little bit of muck on his shoes he looked crisp and clean enough to have afternoon tea with the Queen of England.

"Yeah, well, at least I can always clean up." Punk muttered. "You'll always look like Raggedy Ann had an affair with Casper the friendly ghost."

Sheamus rolled his eyes "Now yer on to ginger jokes! Yer really moving up in the world, Punk. Here, look at these tunnels, what do ye see?"

Punk studied the four nearly identical passages. He couldn't see anything that set one apart from the other. He shrugged,"They look the same to me."

"That's where you're wrong, Punk." Sheamus said pointing up to the ceiling, "Look up!"

Punk craned his head and looked up. Three of the tunnels ceilings were plain nondescript cement. The fourth, the one on the far right was smudged with a trail of footprints.

"You've gotta be shitting me," Punk said, "These things can walk on the ceiling?"

"Yep," Sheamus said, "Some can, as well as turn into bats, wolves and vaporous mist, which ye'd know if ye'd read the book like I told ye to. Come on then, let's finish this one off."

The tunnel was too narrow to walk two abreast so Sheamus took point, shining his flashlight ahead. Punk followed him, ax held at the ready. If anything jumped out at him he was ready. He was determined not to look like an idiot again. The tunnel grew even narrower as it twisted and turned and finally terminated at a slight drop off that was blocked by a sturdy metal grate. Black water flowed sluggishly under the grate.

Sheamus peered down into the murky water but couldn't see anything, "Hey Punk, fancy a swim?" he suggested.

"Ha ha," Punk said sarcastically,"You're soooo funny."

"Why not?" Sheamus asked with a straight face, "Ye can't possibly get any filthier than ye already are."

Punk stared at him trying to decide whether or not the Irishman was serious when Sheamus's mustache began to twitch. Punk crossed his arms and waited until Sheamus stopped snickering.

"Are you quite done?" he asked in an offended tone.

"Ah, fergive me, Punk. I'm only pullin' yer jimmy." Sheamus said, "Yer just so easy. I should 'ave recruited ye sooner. I 'aven't laughed so much since me uncle Conor caught his balls in a barb wire fence!"

"Well, what do we do now?" Punk asked waspishly.

Sheamus glanced at his watch,"It's getting late, close to sun down. We can cast about a bit more for Mahal and if we find him I'm a mind to give him a right proper Belfast breakfast, but we should be heading back to the hotel. It's safer, I can get me a pint and no offense, but ye need a bath."

Punk shifted the ax to his other hand, actually a nice hot shower sounded great just about now. "All right, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Sheamus pulled out his cell phone and activated some sort of navigation program. He used it to map out the best way to get back to their hotel via the sewers. He showed it to Punk who had to admit it was a pretty nifty program. "Compliments of the lovely Miranda," Sheamus sighed sadly.

They found no trace of Mahal as they made their way through the tunnels. Sheamus was perplexed,"I could swear Mahal is a vampire newly turned. What powers does a fledgling like him have that he can disappear in thin air?"

They finally emerged from a man hole half a block from the hotel. The sky was a dusky orange, fading to a bruised purple as the sun slipped below the horizon. They hurried through the front doors of the hotel into the lobby.

The lobby was eerily quiet. Punk started toward the elevators, his mind on nothing more than a hot shower and a cold Pepsi when Sheamus reached out and put a hand on his chest, stopping him. Punk looked at him questioningly. Sheamus put his finger to his lips and nodded toward the empty front desk. They slowly approached and looked over the counter. On the floor, with wide open eyes fixed and glazed, was the front desk clerk. His throat appeared to have been torn out.

Punk looked up and met Sheamus's eyes. They both backed toward the front entrance. Punk touched the door, heard the zapping buzz an instant before something invisible punched him in the chest and knocked him off his feet.

He found himself flat on his back, heart pounding in a crazy staccato rhythm as Sheamus looked anxiously down at him. The Irishman's mouth was moving but it took several seconds before Punk's head cleared enough to hear what he was saying.

"-OK?"

Punk grimaced as he pushed himself up on his elbows.,"Wha-?"

"They've trapped us, Punk," Sheamus said, helping him to his feet. "If I'm not mistaken, they've either kilt or turned everyone in the hotel and trapped us inside. The doors are electrified. It's a miracle they didn't kill ye! The Master must either be very brash or very afraid to do this so openly."

Punk rubbed his chest. It felt like he'd been kicked in the sternum by a mule. "What do we do now?"

The Celtic Warrior looked at him an grinned as if this were the most fun he'd ever had, "What do we do? Why, Punk we hunt 'im down and shove a sword up his arse!"

Punk looked glum. His prospects of dying without feces in his hair were getting slimmer by the moment. "I was afraid you'd say that."


	7. Chapter 7

Sheamus reluctantly let Punk keep the ax but not before warning the Second City Saint not to swing it near his head lest Punk find himself using the ax handle as the world's longest suppository. Punk tried to look offended but he was so delighted at having a useful weapon at last that his grimace turned into a grin as he admired the shiny, sharp ax head.

"So, where do you think this Master vampire is hiding?" Punk asked.

Sheamus pointed up at the ceiling. "Master vampires are very predictable. He'll be holed up in the penthouse surrounded by his minions, a good number of which will be our former coworkers. We'll have to hunt him down an drag him out of the nest he's made up there."

Punk nodded, "So, we take the elevator up there, kill his bodyguards and take his ass out!" He waved the ax with a flourish.

Sheamus watched him warily, keeping well out of reach. "Haven't you learned anything, Punk? The elevators will be death traps. They'd know the instant we got in one, stop it between floors and pour down on us like the legions of doom. Repeat after me!" He pointed a stern finger at Punk, "We NEVER use the elevators! C'mon, I want to hear ye say it!"

Punk rolled his eyes, "We never use the elevators," he repeated reluctantly.

"That's right. And don't ye be forgettin' it either!" Sheamus said.

"OK," Punk said, "The _stairs_, then?" He looked at Sheamus impatiently, waiting for him to criticize this idea as well.

"Well, of course the stairs. Were you planning to scale the walls like Spiderman?" Sheamus inquired peevishly. "But we do a floor by floor sweep as we go up. We don't want any surprises sneaking up behind us."

Punk nodded. That, at least, made sense. The movement of his head made a clot of hair fall in his face. He fought his rising gorge as he noticed there were chunks in it and gingerly slicked it back with a pinky finger. God, he'd tongue kiss Vickie Guerrero for a shower!

He followed Sheamus who was heading past the dining room into the kitchen. Punk's blood was still up from the electric shock he'd received and he wanted to hit something, punch something.

"Hey, I'll take point," he offered as they pushed through the swinging doors into the enormous kitchen.

Sheamus looked back at him, "I appreciate the offer Punk, but I'd like you to watch me back. And…no offense…but the air's a little, uh, clearer up here."

Punk scowled. Sheamus turned back to peer into the kitchen. Punk made a face and stuck his tongue out at the back of the Irishman's head. A childish gesture, to be sure, but it made him feel better.

"Now, let me give you some idea of what to expect."Sheamus was saying, "Master vampires operate in a very predictable pattern. They create enough minions to protect themselves. They rarely handle their business themselves, rather appointing a head henchman or in some cases, henchmen to do their bidding. They delight in torture, playing with their victims instead of dispatching them and they love irony."

Punk looked puzzled, "Irony?"

Sheamus nodded."Ye'll see what I mean. Now, there isn't a master Vampire that I've known yet who doesn't fancy himself to be the second coming of Dracula so make sure you read up on yer Bram Stoker."

Here was something at last that Punk could relate to!

"Hey!" he said, "I'm totally up on Bram Stoker! I've seen the movie, like, at least ten times!"

Sheamus paused, stood still. Punk couldn't see his face but something in the set of his shoulders conveyed massive, but not unexpected, disappointment.

"So ye have, Punk" he finally said tiredly, "If we get through this, remind me to lend ye the book."

'Sure," Punk said, then did a double take, "Hey, what do you mean _if we get through this_?"

"Shhhhhh" Sheamus said, as they stepped through the doors into the largest kitchen Punk had ever seen. Everything was shiny stainless steel, from the long counters of the prep stations to the massive ovens lining the wall. Sheamus looked around the huge room then made a twirling gesture with his hand.

"You take the right, I'll go left. We'll meet on the far side." He said in a low voice. "Look sharp and be mindful of yer back."

Punks nodded, "And kill any vampires I see?" he asked.

Sheamus winked, "Now yer getting the idea, fella!"

Punk tightened his grip on the ax and made his way slowly around the giant freezers. He stuck as close to the wall as he could, eyes and ears opened for the slightest movement or sound. The silence in what should have been a bustling kitchen was surreal. He saw pots and pans out, vegetables on cutting boards ready to be chopped, meat on the counter, congealing in its own blood. Whatever had happened had happened just before dinner service.

As he edged forward he saw a foot clad in a comfortable white work shoe appear from behind a corner. Well, the shoe used to be white. Now it was mostly splashed in the dark maroon of dried blood. He gulped and slowly walked forward. A young woman laid sprawled on the floor, her head twisted almost completely around and a glazed, vacant look in her dead eyes.

Punk gingerly stepped over her, feeling his adrenaline rush collapse at the sight of a dead body. It suddenly hit home hard that this girl was not the last body he'd find tonight, hers wasn't the only family who'd have lost a daughter, a sister, a mother tonight. This was more than just him being a badass and killing vampires or putting up with Sheamus's wisecracks. This was about the fate of mankind itself.

Punk took a long shuddering breath as he continued along the wall. He rounded a corner and came to a large stack of dishes, pots and utensils waiting to be washed. The bay of dishwashers was silent, again incongruous in this vast kitchen. He couldn't even see or hear Sheamus anymore. He nervously ran his hand through his hair, forgetting it was still stiff with dried crap. Oh hell no! He'd had enough of this!

Punk went over to the industrial sink and grabbed the spray nozzle. He turned the water on warm and stuck his head over the basin, rinsing away the sewer muck. Brown water swirled down the drain. There was a bottle of dish soap on the counter and he squirted some in his hair, scrubbing vigorously. Ahhhhh, at least he could feel somewhat cleaner without shit in his hair. He straightened up, flipping wet hair out of his eyes.

Oh, he felt so much better. He looked at the ax leaning against the sink, hesitated then pulled his shirt over his head, wadding it up and throwing it in the trash. He might as well get as clean as possible while he had the chance.

He was soaping up his armpits when he heard a faint scraping step behind him.

"C.M. Punk, is that you?" a soft voice said.

He spun around. He saw someone startle from behind the large, stainless steel freezer. He recognized Layla, peeking around the corner at him, her eyes wide and frightened.

Punk glanced around. They were alone. Sheamus was nowhere to be seen.

"Layla?" he asked, "It's me, Punk. Are you OK?"

Layla hesitated, then nodded, "Everyone is….dead. These people just started killing everyone!" she whispered. "I've been hiding here for five hours."

Punk picked up the ax and cautiously walked over to her. She slowly crept out from behind the freezer. She was wearing a short blue dress and stiletto heels. She was shivering.

"Oh, thank god!" She said in relief, throwing her arms around him, "What's happening? Why was everyone killed? Are they terrorists or something? "

Punk patted her back reassuringly, "It's kind of hard to explain. But you're safe with me. Is there anyone else with you?"

Layla sniffled and nodded, keeping her grip on his arm. "Yes, my sisters are here with me. I'll call them."

"Wait," Punk said, "better not attract too much attention. Just take me to them."

Layla slipped her fingers through his. Poor girl, she must be traumatized. "It's OK." He assured her,"I'll protect you."

Layla led him around the freezers to a tiny closet which held stacks of aprons, napkins and assorted kitchen lines. There was no one to be seen.

"Oh no," she whispered, "They were right here hiding. I told them not to move. Oh Punk, you've got to help me find them!"

She buried her face in his chest and started crying. Punk awkwardly stroked her hair, "Don't worry Layla. We'll find them."

Layla looked up into his eyes, trailing her fingers down his bare, damp chest. Her eyes were mesmerizing. He'd never before noticed they were this hypnotic shade of gold with darker flecks that seemed to spin with the lights.

"Ohhh, Punk, you're so brave," she cooed. "I feel so safe with you."

"Uhm, thanks" Punk said. He didn't exactly mind being fawned over by a beautiful woman, but it seemed a little out of place in the kitchen of what was basically a slaughterhouse.

Layla ran her fingers through his hair, he was glad it was finally clean, and then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. He stiffened in surprise. OK, this was definitely suspicious! What was he supposed to do, push her away? He definitely thought he should but for some reason, his arms were suddenly as strengthless as overcooked noodles.

Layla pulled back, still stroking his hair,"Ooh, Punk, I always thought you were a pretty one. Now I get to have you all to myself."

"Uh...Layla...what are you...?" he managed to croak.

"Shhhhh..."she whispered as she pushed him to his knees, "don't worry, don't struggle. I promise, it will be perfectly painless. You might even enjoy it."

Punk gasped, trying to take a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Had she poisoned him? He could barely move as she straddled him, stroking his chest with her sharp nails. Her golden eyes were fixed on his, her smile suddenly sly and full of teeth.

"Layla! You promised you'd wait for us! Naughty, naughty, not to share!" a second voice said scoldingly.

Layla looked over her shoulder and pouted when she saw Aksana. "I was going to share, but you always get the first bite!"

Aksana laughed as she knelt by Punk and took his chin in her hand, turning his face toward her,"C.M. Punk. You look very tasty! And already half unwrapped!"

"What...are...you..?"Punk managed to rasp as Aksana used the edge of her nail to make a shallow scratch just along his collarbone. Blood oozed from the shallow cut.

"We're the sisters," Aksana said, "And you...are dinner." She leaned down and licked the blood from his skin. Punk shivered and tried again to summon the strength to shove these parasitic bitches off of him. He turned his head, he could see his ax still leaning against the wall where he'd left it. All he managed was a feeble twitch which made Layla laugh.

"Oh, Punk, there is nothing you can do to fight us. You might as well lay back and enjoy it." She used her nails to cut him across the chest and bent her head to feed off of his blood. Punk felt drunk, his head was swimming. Layla was right, he felt no pain. Instead, he felt incredibly relaxed and even a little turned on. Aksana lifted her head, her lips red and wet. She laughed when she saw him staring at her and kissed him. He could taste his own blood.

Part of him was screaming inside. Was this how he was going to go out? But another part of him was telling him to relax, enjoy it, it was inevitable. And there were worse ways to go.

Then a screechy voice cut through his thoughts, "Excuse me!"

Aksana broke off the kiss and looked over her shoulder, "Vickie!" She said, "Don't worry, we were saving some for you!"

"Well you'd better!" Vickie bounced into view as Layla wiped her chin. "Ooooooh, it's C.M. Punk!" Vickie squealed, "I always had a crush on you! You are just soooo yummy!"

Punk made a massive effort to jump to his feet but all he managed was a grunt and a twitch before Vickie plopped down in his lap. She grabbed his chin in her hand and lifted his face to hers.

"C.M. Punk, you were always a stuck up little snot who never gave me the time of day," she said with a pout. Her eyes were luminous gold like Layla's. Her snaggle teeth were still pronounced but had become sharp fangs. Incredibly, there was something about her new vampiric guise that was sensual and horrifying at the same time.

"Vickie..." he managed to croak as she burrowed her face into his throat. He felt a sharp pain as her fangs pierced his skin...

"Aye, bleeding Jaysus! Can't I let you alone fer a single second...?" Punk saw Sheamus appear, looming over Vickie's shoulder, and felt simultaneous relief and... disappointment?

Sheamus waded into the little tableau, swinging his Celtic cross on the end of its heavy chain. Aksana and Layla hissed and shrieked as he beat them with the cross, their skin sizzling where it made contact. Vickie's head whipped around as she snarled, but she didn't move, refusing to give up her prize.

"Get thee gone, ye foul bitches!" Sheamus commanded. Layla rose to her feet and charged at him, her features blurring into a horrific, demonic mask. Sheamus, sidestepped and grabbed her by the back of the neck, using her own momentum to slam her face first into the wall. But before he could do away with her. Aksana grabbed Punk's ax and swung it down at his head. Sheamus snapped his head to the side just in time to avoid getting it split open. Instead, the ax buried itself into his left shoulder.

Blood spurted, as Sheamus bellowed in pain. He kicked Aksana in the gut, then, holding the cross like a dagger, drove the sharpened foot of the cross into Layla's back, through her heart. Layla shrieked, her head twisting almost all the way around before she crumbled into a pile of dust. Sheamus turned and yanked the ax from his shoulder. Blood was pouring from the wound, soaking the entire left side of his body. He ignored it as he flung the ax, end over end at Aksana. It struck her between the eyes, buried nearly to the haft. Aksana's astonished expression crumbled into ash.

Dunring all of this, Punk was desperately trying to move, to throw Vickie off of him, to help. But he couldn't, he barely had the strength to twitch his fingers. Vickie had bent back over him, intent on drinking him dry. Sheamus stumbled over, kicked her in the head, throwing her off of Punk's inert body. She went sprawling on her back, "Excuse me!" she shrieked.

"Nawp, I don't think I will," Sheamus said. Vickie's eyes widened as he raised the ax. She threw her arms up in a feeble attempt to ward off the blow but it was no use. The ax sheared through her wrists, then her neck, like butter. She puffed out in a pile of ash.

Punk lay, still paralyzed as Sheamus turned toward him, wobbling on his feet. The Irishman was fading fast, blood was pooling around his boots.

"Punk," Sheamus said blearily "Was that really Vickie Guerrero I saw ye letting nuzzle yer neck?"

Before Punk could reply, Sheamus's eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed to the floor.


End file.
